


Languages

by fmo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Caring, Domesticity, Gen, M/M, Muteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2079975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmo/pseuds/fmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky has not spoken a word since Steve found him again.</p><p>Bucky doesn’t say a word, just looks at Steve. And it’s awful, because Bucky used to look at Steve all the time, but not like this. When they were at war, there was one constant: Bucky was always watching over Steve—sometimes from up above, sometimes from across the campfire or in the back of a truck. And Bucky always saw, always noticed if Steve was hurt and trying to hide it, or if something was troubling Steve, or if Steve was attempting to pull the wool over anybody’s eyes. Sometimes, too, Steve turned and saw Bucky looking at him, and in the second before Bucky grinned there was something else in Bucky’s eyes that made him feel valuable, that made him feel like Bucky believed in him.</p><p>Bucky watches Steve now, but Steve isn’t sure how much it is the same.</p><p>OR: Winter Soldier recovery, a little angst, a little shmoop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Languages

Bucky has not spoken a word since Steve found him again.

Steve can list the sentences that Bucky has said to him since 1945. Four of them were shouted at him as the helicarriers fell, and the other one was, “Who the hell is Bucky?”

Steve had imagined that either Bucky was gone and he’d find the Winter Soldier (in which case he’d do his best to earn the Soldier’s trust and start again), or else Bucky would return. What has happened isn’t so simple. The person who Steve thinks of as Bucky is physically present, living in Steve’s apartment, but Steve isn’t sure who is really living with him: if it’s Bucky, or the Winter Soldier, or an unknown combination of the two, or none of the above. And it’s not that the answer to this question would make any difference to how welcome he is, because Steve fears every day that he will come back and his guest will be gone, but . . . it’s just worse, somehow, having Bucky back but not having him back, and not even knowing where to start to make things better.

Bucky doesn’t say a word, just looks at Steve. And it’s awful, because Bucky used to look at Steve all the time, but not like this. When they were at war, there was one constant: Bucky was always watching over Steve—sometimes from up above, sometimes from across the campfire or in the back of a truck. And Bucky always saw, always noticed if Steve was hurt and trying to hide it, or if something was troubling Steve, or if Steve was attempting to pull the wool over anybody’s eyes. Sometimes, too, Steve turned and saw Bucky looking at him, and in the second before Bucky grinned there was something else in Bucky’s eyes that made him feel valuable, that made him feel like Bucky believed in him.

Steve had taken that for granted. Until he had to be Captain America, or even Steve Rogers, without Bucky watching him, and it was harder.

Bucky watches Steve now, but Steve isn’t sure how much it is the same. Usually, Bucky’s face is just blank or else showing intent concentration, like he’s studying Steve’s movements. When Steve speaks to Bucky, Bucky’s face doesn’t change. Sometimes, at his lowest moments, Steve isn’t sure how much of anyone is present behind the eyes at all, or if the watching is just pure instinct and nothing more.

If only SHIELD was still around, and not, well, corrupt, maybe they could have found a, a therapist for Bucky or something. Sam gives Steve advice but he says Bucky needs so much more, and Steve knows that’s true but who can Steve trust, really? Nobody knows what happened to the man with the metal arm who killed people in DC. Nobody knows Bucky Barnes is still alive. Except for Steve.

This is their day:

“Morning, Buck.”

Bucky sits at the kitchen island, watches Steve cook.

“You want some eggs?”

Bucky says nothing, but when Steve puts the eggs on his plate he eats them. This is one of the few ways that Steve knows Bucky is even aware of his surroundings: Bucky won’t eat cereal or toast if they’re put in front of him. But eggs, he eats.

“You want to come running?”

Bucky looks at Steve and stays seated, so Steve goes alone.

When Steve comes back, Bucky has showered and put on clean clothes, is sitting on the couch, maybe, not doing anything. He turns to look at Steve when Steve comes back in.

Steve comes out of his room, dressed for the day, and either takes out his laptop for one of his free online classes (he has to get better at technology, because it played a part in New York and in DC and Steve needs to be able to face it on his own) or takes out his materials to draw or paint (the minimal money he makes from his art really just supplements his pension, but he did go to school for it, after all, and in the absence of SHIELD it’s a profession outside the military that he’s qualified to pursue).

Steve turns on the TV to pretend that Bucky is watching it; he knows that Bucky is watching him.

“I’m going to the grocery store, you wanna come?”

Bucky stays seated.

“Okay,” Steve says.

Steve goes in and out, to Tony's tower, to the gym, to benefits in Manhattan, to visit hospitals and schools.

When Steve goes to bed, he says goodnight, and Bucky stands up too and then goes to his own room, but he watches Steve pass him in the hallway.

Months go by, and Sam is at Steve’s apartment all the time and Bucky essentially ignores him, like he ignores all visitors that aren’t Steve, and Sam’s face gets more and more worried. Steve knows, but how can Bucky even start any kind of therapy like this? Where do you even start? Even Sam says this is so much further than anything he’s ever seen.

At least Bucky is safe and okay, Steve says to Sam. Steve doesn’t know anything else that he can do for Bucky but this. Certainly, Bucky is free to go, but he chooses to stay, doesn’t he? At least he has a warm bed, and good meals, and—

But at least on the Helicarrier, Bucky had been angry. At least he’d looked Steve in the eyes.

It’s after the most recent conversation on these lines that Steve wakes himself up in the middle of the night with a dream. Not a nightmare—that would be normal—but a dream.

In the dream it had been both 2014 and 1939, both at the same time in the nonsensical way of dreams. Steve had been little (in his dreams he’s always little) and going to art classes together with Bucky, but at the same time Stark had been texting him all the time like he currently does, trying to persuade him to move into the Avengers Tower. And Bucky had been the old Bucky, but living in Steve’s current apartment, wandering around in his socks with a cup of coffee in his hands and stealing Steve’s laptop just so that Steve could put his arms around him to take it back and looking back at Steve with that grin—

Steve wakes up and pushes his face into his pillow and cries, cries in a way that he never has done after any nightmare. He allows himself to, because what does it matter anyway?

He’s so lost in the mindlessness of the tears that it takes him a second to notice his door creaking open. Light filters into his room from the hallway; Bucky’s silhouette in the doorway. Looking at him.

Steve sits up and makes a cursory attempt to wipe his face. “It’s okay,” he says. “There’s no danger. You can go back to bed. Sorry I woke you up.”

Bucky doesn’t move.

“Everything’s okay,” Steve says, reaching for a tissue to blow his nose. “Really.” He makes himself smile. “Don’t worry.”

Bucky doesn’t move.

“Bucky, do you need something?” Steve tries to make out Bucky’s face better, but he’s too backlit from the light in the hallway. “Are you hurt, do you need me to, to do something?”

Bucky takes a few steps into the room, until he’s almost by the side of Steve’s bed.

“Do you want to get in?” Steve finally says, hesitantly, moving over and pulling down the comforter. This was something they did a lot, long ago, but he hadn’t thought—

Bucky gets in, lies down slowly, puts his head on the second pillow, which must be damp from how Steve had his face in it.

“Okay,” Steve says, his voice catching in his throat. He lies back down as well, pulls the comforter up as though his heart isn’t hammering. Then Bucky’s arm goes around Steve’s waist. It’s dark in the room, Steve can’t even really see Bucky at his side, but he can feel that Bucky’s wearing a t-shirt and lying mostly on his stomach. Steve gathers up his bravery and wraps his own arm over Bucky’s. Bucky doesn’t move.

It’s the most they’ve touched since Bucky fell.

Steve tries to figure it out, to make sense of it, but with the presence of Bucky at his side with his arm around him he—

Falls asleep, soft and sound and dreamless.

When he wakes in the morning, it’s exactly five-thirty, which is the time he always wakes up, and Bucky is gone. But there’s an impression on the pillow, and when Steve moves his hand the sheets next to him are warm.

 Steve gets up, goes into the kitchen, and stops in shock because Bucky is cooking. Actually, there’s a smell of coffee that’s almost done brewing and Bucky is just turning from the stove to slide half a big omelet onto the second of two plates on the counter. Steve actually wasn’t aware that Bucky knew how to use this stove, or where the pans were.

Steve sits down and looks at the omelet, while Bucky puts a cup of coffee by his plate and then sits down next to him. The omelet is done exactly— _exactly_ —the way Steve cooks it. Steve isn’t totally sure he’s not still sleeping.

“Thank you,” he finally says.

Bucky looks at Steve until he cuts the omelet and starts eating. It’s good, or at least just as good as Steve’s own are.

“It’s great,” Steve says.

Bucky says nothing.

When he’s done, Steve stands up and says, like usual, “You want to come running?”

It’s only after the words are out of his mouth that he realizes Bucky is already showered and dressed and wearing his own workout clothes. Bucky looks at him in a way that maybe, just a tiny bit, could mean _you’re an idiot_ and stands up too.

“Okay,” Steve says, heart beating a little faster. He wonders if Bucky can read the pleasure on his face, just from this little thing.

At first, this is the only change. Steve and Bucky run side by side (and yes, Steve absolutely reduces his pace so that he can be sure Bucky will keep up). But Bucky doesn’t come back to Steve’s bed again. 

Then, a week later, Steve is putting on his suit for a benefit dinner he was persuaded into by Pepper Potts (who is, ultimately, a perfect match for Stark; they both always get what they want, but she’s just much better at making you think it was your own idea all along). He tries to comb his hair into place, and then remembers that it’s not supposed to be combed flat any more and runs his hands through it, but that looks wrong too—it doesn’t seem to go with the formality of the suit.

Steve is pondering this in the hallway mirror when Bucky pads up to his side with the silent steps Steve’s gotten used to now.

“Hey,” Steve says, feeling a little sheepish, all dressed up but still not looking quite right.

 Of course, Steve isn’t really expecting a response, and Bucky doesn’t say anything. But Bucky does examine him from head to toe, maybe more carefully than normal, and then reaches out and tugs Steve’s collar and adjusts his tie. Steve holds very still; Bucky’s warm hand goes up to Steve’s hair and runs through it carefully, making adjustments. Finally, Bucky steps back.

Steve looks back at the mirror. His hair’s not combed flat any more, but it looks—better? And his tie is finally straight.

He clears his throat. “Thanks,” he says.

 Bucky looks at him again for a long moment, then goes back to the couch.

 The dinner is nothing particularly interesting, but the next day is a Saturday, and Steve has a policy of going out on Saturdays, even if he’s just going to a museum by himself or having lunch with a friend. “Hey,” he says, after their morning run, “you wanna go out today? Just to walk around?” Sometimes Steve just roams around Brooklyn, trying to get the new New York to settle into his bones.

 Steve still expects no response, but instead Bucky stands up.

 “Oh,” Steve says, off-balance. “Okay, give me a second, I gotta get my stuff together.”

 Bucky waits until Steve has his keys and his cell phone and his wallet and the newspaper clipping of the restaurant he wanted to check out, and then he takes his jacket and comes out with Steve into the April sunshine.

 “Got anywhere you really want to go?” Steve says as they stroll down the sidewalk.

 Bucky just looks at Steve, but Steve thinks—he thinks this is maybe a little more like the old kind of looking. It’s not blank, not totally empty, and when Steve smiles he feels like maybe Bucky really sees it.

 So Steve takes them on the route he’d planned, and if Steve talks a little and Bucky says nothing, at least it feels like Bucky’s listening. And when Steve’s not talking, and they’re just walking side by side, for a moment it feels—better. Running is one thing, but walking around Brooklyn with Bucky at his elbow—that’s how things are supposed to be.

 At last, they stop in front of the restaurant—a organic-fancy-versions of American classics type of place, but according to the Internet it’s really good—and Steve says, “You good with having lunch here?” Unsurprisingly, Bucky doesn’t reply, but he does head in, and Steve follows.

 Bucky just stares at the menu, so Steve just orders them both the standard cheeseburger with fries. Bucky seems to like his, because he starts on the burger with gusto, but it’s just as Steve’s checking his phone (just a funny picture Sam’s texted to him, but he always looks at texts right away in case it’s an emergency) and then putting it away again that Bucky’s hand appears and casually, unobtrusively, takes one of Steve’s French fries, despite having the exact same fries on his own plate.

 Steve’s jaw drops just a little. “Hey, excuse me,” Steve says, reaching out to take one of Bucky’s in retribution, but he isn’t really trying to hide his delight.

 Bucky looks up at Steve, and he’s smiling—not a big smile, just a little curling up at the corners of his mouth, and maybe the smile’s more in his eyes than anywhere else, but it’s still more of any kind of emotion than Steve’s seen from him since he’s been at the apartment.

 “Some kind of friend you are,” Steve says, the words coming out on automatic, like some older version of Steve speaking from inside himself. As soon as he’s said it, his skin chills because it’s not the same any more, and maybe that joke’s not funny now, but—Bucky’s expression doesn’t change. He’s still amused. The joke’s not ruined.

 So they keep eating. Steve kind of wants Bucky to try to steal another fry, but he doesn’t, and that’s okay. Steve pays the check and leaves a good tip, and then they head out into the late afternoon.

 Or, at least Steve does, because after a minute or so of walking he realizes suddenly Bucky’s not with him. Bucky was there when they stepped out of the restaurant door, he knows for sure, so it could only be a minute since Bucky’s been gone, but—the cold sweat starts. Bucky’s gone. Steve doesn’t know if he should text Sam or Stark or Natasha or start running or—and in between the thought of people getting hurt again like in DC, there’s the thought of Bucky being gone for good. Vanished.

 But as Steve’s standing in the middle of the sidewalk, pedestrians pushing past him in annoyance, there’s Bucky coming out of the restaurant again, calm as ever, holding something in his hand. As Bucky walks up to Steve again, he holds the thing in his hand out.

 It’s Steve’s hat. His blue baseball cap; he must have left it on the seat without thinking. Steve takes it, puts it on quickly before anyone around him starts noticing Captain America and taking pictures. “Thanks, Buck,” Steve says. "I didn't even realize." Technically, Steve's eyesight is superhuman, since after the serum, but Bucky was always the sniper. Nobody was ever as good as noticing the little things as Bucky was. Is.

 Bucky reaches up to tweak the brim of the cap just a little. It’s his gloved left hand, but the touch is gentle.

 “Hey, I like this hat,” Steve says, and they turn to keep walking homewards. They let the evening settle in quiet between them as they walk, elbows just touching sometimes.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments!
> 
> If you liked this story, you should check out my story Saturdays, which is similar (because all of my interests right now are characters being delighted by doing mundane domestic things and adoring each other in a very repressed and unspoken and heartfelt way).
> 
> Come say hi to me at fmowrites.tumblr.com, and if you found this fic through a rec, please tell me! I love to hear about being recced.


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